


Study Of Talking Shadows

by Belle82DevArt



Series: Study Of Talking Shadow [1]
Category: Hannibal Lecter (Hopkins Movies), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types, Silence of the Lambs - Fandom
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Drugs, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, F/M, Love/Hate Relationship, M/M, Mentions of Sex, Multi, NSFW, Potentially offending material., Sex, Sexual Abuse, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Sexual Themes, Smoking, Trigger Warnings Galore, You have been warned., sexual crimes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-15
Updated: 2019-02-10
Packaged: 2019-10-10 22:21:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17434592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Belle82DevArt/pseuds/Belle82DevArt
Summary: A investigator has to deal with a serial killer of the sexual nature and when said investigator must get the aid of a criminal to solve the case, she must avoid unwanted attraction herself.





	1. CONDITUM

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to the lovely @Dovahlock221 for your help in the ideas behind this story as well as your support in writing it! <3

“Name, gender and age.” “Max Hamilton, male, age eighteen. Found in a hotel swimming pool, upper body from abdomen to head nude. The beginning of scars from forced implants being shown. Silicone 'cups' formed to make 'breast' and skin being thinned and stretched as to cover the males chest. Stomach was ripped open, intestines mostly missing due to the current created by the vacuum and some having been stuffed within the 'breast' molds to keep their shape. The males penis was cut off then sewn back in place, a pink bow used to cover it and women's lingerie placed over his lower half. Black, leather and lace combination. Stockings and lace used to cover where needle marks have been indicated.” A silence fell around the area as the eyes of multiples gazed upon the water. The crimson undertones of the liquid mixture danced along the surface of the sloshing, crimson waves created by the hooks and loops used to drag the body from the middle of the pool. Drying puddles surfaced on the cement around the base. “How high?” “We believe it was the fifth floor, a room reserved for Mr. Hamilton.” “What did the security cameras catch?” “Hooded male, about six-three. Lean build, Was seen leaving the hotel when staff went to investigate the pool. It was closed at the time.” “We’ll have to check with forensics for any leads on the injuries and leads on the timing of the death.” The male followed the investigator as she led the way back into the hotel, stealing a mint from the dish as they passed and making their way to the stationed car outside of the hotel.

“Still driving the old Baldwin.” “My pride and joy, Jimmy. So tell me more about Mr. Hamilton. What did you get out of his friends when you went to visit the high school today?” “Mr. Aston said his best friend that he shared a few puffs with here and there was a real, and I quote, ‘fucked up fucker who would beat on this tranny dick’.” “So the kid was bullying someone?” “Yeah, the kids name was Joseph Miller, her friends called her Josephine.” “Using her pronouns?” “I’ve got nothing against such, agent (last name).” “Nor do I. Continue.” “So, tracking the messages that have been sent back and forth between Josephine and Max, he was alluding her into a false sense of love, then when she was hooked, played on her emotions and started saying some really hateful stuff. A week later, her father found her dead. She was gonna get top surgery later that month.” “Damn, poor kid. What did Mr. Hamilton's family say about him?” A chuckle from the agent in the passenger seat and he looked to the woman. It was dark humor the detective liked, (Last name) had only grown accustomed to such. “Ya well, here’s the real kicker. The father caught Max on regular occasions spankin’ his meat to some playgirl mags. Seems he had it for the lads rather then the ladies.” “Well I’ll be damned.” The questions going back and forth came and went as the detective and junior agent conversation. The drive felt longer than it should have when Jimmy Miggs went on about his spank collection and causing a disgust to stick in the air until being back at the station. “So, ya wanna get a drink or s-” “I’m gonna stop you right there, buddy. I have a boyfriend.” “Oh yeah? Then why do you never talk about him?” “Because I have decency.” “Or you’re some carpet licker.” “Shut it, Miggs.”

The male followed the other to the front of the building and that's when they diverged ways, junior agent (First Name) (Last Name) returning to her cubicle and checking over her messages. She was among three others, so what was the need for cubicles? “FBI called, wanted to speak with you ASAP, (Last Name).” A pretty little brunette, peppy and bubbly, her southern drawl enough to entice any man or woman in the small garrison they possessed. The Junior agent could recall a night or two with the peppy brunette, how those plump, peach colored lips had played so well on her- “Is that so? Did you divert them to my line or Miggs?” “Miggs is transferring it to your line since it is his lunch. Fat bastard doesn’t even know what fasting is.” “Thank you, Rosa, I’ll take the call now.” Dress shoe heels clap loudly over the cement floor of the building, sounding like a slow gallop of hooves from a wild stallion that has been fixed up and stowed away on a showroom floor. Nude nails press the hold button of call number two and slowly raised the phone up, settling it between the juncture of her neck, shoulder and ear. “(Last Name). How can I help ya?” “Ah, agent (Last Name), I’m Jack Crawford of the Behavioral Analysis Unit in the FBI, Quantico office.” “Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Crawford. I’ll ask again, what is the purpose of your call?” “I believe we can benefit on your case. You call him down there the Puritan?” “Yes, and y'all call him a serial rapist, am I correct?” “Borderline.”

“Explain to me, Mr. Crawford, just what you think can be beneficial among our very different parties?” “I believe I may have a specialist who will be able to help you on your case, but in turn, the FBI would like to take control over the matter with you as a representative of the Norfolk agency.” “So, aid in exchange for the FBI taking the glory? Sounds risky and cocky of you, Mr. Crawford.” The woman smirked a bit to herself when she hears the clearing of his throat over the receiver, a clear reaction to her call out of the information she has been presented as of yet. “You’re a scholar, Mr. Crawford, infamous around our towns local newspaper. Oh how my coworkers seem to swoon over every little thing you do. You and Ms. Starling if I must take into account Detective Miggs position on her beauty. ‘Jack Crawford and Starling at it again, solving the case of the Buckwood Farmer’. Tell me, Mr. Crawford, what was Mr. Jonny Farmers reaction when he had been found out, feeding his family his victims intestines rather then the pigs they kept on their farm? Wasn’t it the pigs had grown sick?” “He was petrified to say the least, if he hadn’t been so sloppy on his last kill, he may have never been found out.”

“Mr. Crawford, a killer will always be found out in due time. Now, to the topic at hand. May I ask just who this specialist is that you wish for me to meet with?” “Is this a deal, (Last Name)?” “The name, Crawford.”

“Hannibal Lecter”

* * *

  
“Now, Ms. (First Name), may I call you such?” “I would prefer we keep things simply professional between us, Doctor Chilton.” “Yes, yes...Any who, Did Crawford inform you in the measures you should be taking as to speak with _Mr_. Lecter?” “He has informed me of most, but said you could fill me in as to the other elements that need to be taken before, during and after my meeting with _Doctor_ Lecter.” “I can very much assure you, he is no doctor anymore. That title has long since been removed.” “Get on with it.”

A sigh of annoyance filled the air at the woman who had been so blunt in the matter of the ‘good doctor’ as the case began to advance. The time frame was closing in on them all for catching the killer, and Doctor Chilton didn’t seem to much care for that as compared to getting between those subtle curves of the womans and ram her like the sick dog he was. It took a wacko to run a hospital for them. “ **Do not** touch the glass. **Do not** approach the glass.” They make their way down a long hallway, pale walls with paint that looked to be a number of years old, beginning to peel at the tops and edges. “You pass him _nothing_ but soft paper - **no** pencils or pens. **No** staples or paperclips in his paper.” His punctuation of each demand was practical and in good use for the woman to keep in mind. She wasn’t planning for a undoing, a damnation. Hannibal Lecter was only a outlet to use for its electrical current, a source of information that would charge the case. “Use the sliding food carrier, _no exceptions_.” The make it to a door marked ‘maximum security’ and (First Name) took note of the red light peeking through a caged cover, casting black lines on the wall that showed where the black blocked the red. It felt almost like a horrid nightclub in New Amsterdam, the light enough to give a back alley and drug laced high nostalgic feeling. “If he attempts to pass you anything, **do not** accept it. Do you understand me?” “Yes, I do understand, Doctor Chilton. May I be excused to talk in private with your patient?” “You may. Barney, lead her over to _Mr_. Lecter's cell.” “Yes sir.”

The approach was quiet, the soft clicks of cheap, department store dress shoes followed the lace-less sneakers that squeaked on every other step. A grating sound, it got on the woman's nerves, but she kept her thin line smile and stoic gaze as the prison maintenance led the other over to the glass barrier. “Doctor Lecter, you have a visitor.” Silence, it met the air and the quietness of the air was left up to the two before the cell, and one hidden in the shadows at the rear of the confined space. The agent could almost recall the time in the hospital to be that of her training, when she had to go to Petersburg to the Central Lunatic Asylum, or the more ethical term of State hospital, since not everyone that went there was indeed insane or looney. “Doctor Lecter, I’m agent (First Name) (Last Name) of the Norfolk police. I was referred to you by one Behavioral Analysis Unit overseer Jack Crawford of the FBI.” More silence, more annoyance. Time was ticking by before the Puritan decided to butcher his next victim. “I was told to have you review a case that is currently gaining more bodies compared to evidence.” “So Jackie sent a little rookie, a representative of her band of merry _idiots_ to get my aid on what, _a cattle theft_?” A mockery of tone from that of sophisticated silk, driven and leveled voice that belonged to the lanky man compared to the others short stature. “There have been seven killings across Virginia, North Carolina and South Carolina, each ranging in severity and some involving.. Post mortem insertion.” “Ah, so no cattle fucking for the-” “Doctor, we request your help on this, if you will please.” The woman snapped in a tone that didn’t meet her eyes. Calm, she was very calm. “How rude of me. Benny, get this lovely woman a chair. Oh, dear, your feet must be killing you in those _second rate_ , _department store_ shoes. I must admit, your little power suit there does compliment you even if it isn’t that of a exclusive brand. Where did you get it? New York City? Pittsburgh?” “Debs.” “Oh, I see.”

The taller male of darker skin sets the chair before the glass barrier, keeping its distance from it and allowing the other to seat herself before returning to his station. “Do tell me, are you hunting this...Puritan?” “Yes.” “Please, tell me why you name him such.” “It started out with a local preacher, he was the first to see the crime scene and took note of a few things from his trusty book. He started _spewing blubber_ here and there about the scene itself and how ‘ _the devil had consumed this soul and drove him to do such a evil deed_ ’. With the conclusion of the scene from our small department of examiners and an agent from the FBI in the early stages of the investigation upon request from my boss, we concluded the man was ruling in a biblical mindset. He was the one purifying the world, but how humorous he wrote the words of ‘Annabel Lee’, a poem by an **Atheist** no less.” This earned a chuckle and the man took to sitting himself at the small desk he had been provided in the cell, pressed against the cramped wall where drawings lay. Those of a unknown city, those of a beautiful skyline, the agent was inclined to ask about such yet refused to give in to her own curiosity. “ _It was many and many a year ago, In a kingdom by the sea, That a maiden there lived whom you may know By the name of Annabel Lee;_ ” “I see you know the poem.” “Oh, agent, you **_underestimate_** my reading taste. Tell me about the other crimes.” “I actually have the files here.” The pull out food carrier was shoved in the direction of the woman, and upon setting the file in and allowance of a split second to pull those thin fingers away, the carrier was slammed back and a calloused hand picked up the file. “Yves Saint Laurent Opium? Fruity hints with a mixture of what I assume to be cherry blossom lotion. A Forty five dollar bottle of french perfume with a six dollar lotion. Where did the first crime take place?” “Beaufort, South Carolina. A couple. Mrs. Margaret Ross-Pegeen, age forty-nine and Mr. William Ross, age fifty.” “And what manner were they found in?”

“Bondage, tied up together with intestines tied together in a arrangement with flowers placed in between to represent some form of art. A poem of death and love is left on the walls in their blood and release mixtures, presumably the woman's but also could be a mixture of the males. Killed after _initial release_ , ** _necrophilia_** is indicated on the corpses due to the extensive damage in the mans anus and the woman's vaginal cavern. Condom use inhibited the spread of DNA and the bodies have been traced with imprints of gloves. No fingerprints to be reported of. At first we believed it was a threesome gone wrong but that was unusual from the reports of their neighbors, friends and family.” “Oh _naughty_ , _naughty_ Mr. Ross. He’s been cheating with another woman.” “How do you know such, Doctor?” “Oh, could your petty little profiler not see this my dear, agent? Your couple here have been in a very rocky relationship. Do you see the ring band on the man's finger?” The male held one of the case file photographs to show the mans hand, the pale ring-mark from where one had been missing, prominent like sun peaking through the trees. “That would explain the tying of their intestines, having them so close. He rejoined them in body-” “And what our biblical killer believes to be their souls.”

“Daniel Brown, age twenty one. He was very young, I must admit. It seems your killer has no preference as to what gender he goes for. Have you taken into account a sort of dominant personality trait? As in BDSM.” “I know what you mean, and yes, we have taken that into consideration. At first, we thought this was a freak one-and-done killing but with the complexity behind it, I was doubtful.” “And where was he located?” “Beech Mountain, North Carolina. He was found hanged by a belt from a ceiling fan in a local motel, holes cut within the abdomen and chest of the victim filled with tealight candles and melted wax dripping down to a missing lower half. Legs broken post-mortem to remain spread and syringe marks left near the inner thigh/crotch juncture indicating injection of an unknown substance to keep certain ' _aspects_ ' of the body stiff. Covered in previous victims ' _mixture_ ' of blood and ' _substances_ '. Rectal bleeding indicated post mortem insertion after the body was severed.” “Decorated in cum, blood and wax, sounds like **quite** the night, Mrs. (Last Name). Have you spent many of those with lovers of the varying sort?” “Doctor Lecter, if you will please.” “Oh how you’re no fun.” The man damn near pouts at her words as he looked over the case file. How creative this killer was. Whatever must be going through his mind, Hannibal Lecter could almost admire it. He takes note of the subtle rub to her wrist, as if to indicate discomfort in the motion. It could be the subject matter of the case, or probably her love life. “Oh I see, how you must spend your nights alone, trying to work out one after another just to pretend a man or woman can please you in such a way. Tell me, does your pussy tingle and gush whenever you get your fingers working?” “I don’t believe I need to answer the likes of such to you, Lecter.” “Doctor.”

“The meaning behind this murder?” “It was confirmed the lad was a date rape drug dealer. He used the makeshift bars in his classmates homes and the surrounding city clubs to catch his prey and use them or for others to do the same. We assume our killer caught on to such and ended the life and reputation of a small town dealer.” “How fascinating.”

“Next?” The woman inquired, taking the lead from there and to say the easy transition was impressive was therefore lacking, yet appreciated by the Doctor as he flipped through to the third case. “Edward Roberts, thirty-two. Found in Abingdon, Virginia. He was discovered with a severed tongue, that of a pig, down his throat. Signs of asphyxiation indicated. Finger indentations from strangulation and what is believed to be 'choke play' shown along with excessive bruising of the body from what can only be described as 'whip-like tendencies'. Blood is smeared around the Pectoral juncture, knife marks indication of invasive procedures into the chest cavity. Organs have been replaced with that of a pigs and the head of a pig is resting over the males limp member, like a sleeve. It is believed the head has been placed over while the victim was alive due to traces of urine being left in the animals head.” “Urine?” “He...pissed himself.” “Ah, the sod didn’t even get a chance to scream as that pig head was being placed over him. Erect and all, even in death.” “He was currently in the process of divorce. His wife testified she should have custody of the children due to his...molestation of them.” Her shiver didn’t go unnoticed, nor the shift in her gaze off to the side as if to avoid the topic. How foolish, to think he would leave such be.

“May I inquire a...personal connection to this particular victim, Ms. (Last Name). Why, daddy used to bend you over his knee whenever you had been a naughty, naughty little girl, did he not? He used to make you keep quiet when mommy was around so you could clean up the mess without her objections. She must have been incompetent in bed for you to be his next choice, you must of had a special mouth.” A clear of the woman's throat and she continued on with the cases. “ _Tsk tsk_ , avoiding our lovely conversation. It’s rude to not reply.” “And it is also rude to interrupt such a serious matter with your poor attempts to get under my skin.” A chuckle, and the man gave what appeared to be his most serious face. “My apologies, good agent. Please, do continue.”

“Right. Dr Nikhil Scott, fifty-three. He was found in the trunk of his own car in Tazewell, Virginia, dismembered with roses scattered around the body. A crown of thorns rest on the dismembered head of the professors, glued down to a mannequin body in the mannequins lap rest the man's heart, penis and intestines wrapped up like a bouquet of flowers.” “How romantic. I assume he was gift wrapped for you to find.” “He was reportedly a womanizer, seducing his female students with the threat of failing them if they did not comply to his sexual advances.” “He was killed over not giving them free will, for being a man-whore.” “Correct.” “This next one was one that was far harder to understand, not until we discovered her occupation.” “A tight rump this one has.” “Alexandra Johnson, twenty-eight. She was twenty minutes away from her home in Sumter. A shitty motel. “They found her in the 'doggy position'. Oh how scrumptious.” “Her hands and feet were removed and, what is the result of their removal... 'nubs', were placed within blocks of cement, believed to he holding her in place. The victim was conscious at the time, tongue and vocal cords removed to stop the emit of sound. The neck was left open to display where the removal had taken place and traces of latex from condoms have been seen in all three of the females offices, the mouth region post surgery being the most and that being indicated by the small puddle of blood resting on the hardened cement. Her back skin has been peeled back in the form of what appears to be bat wings or some form of demonic entity.”

“I assume they called in a priest?” The woman shook her head with a borderline grin taking to her lips as those eyes of his looked on to her, watched her. The soft laugh she gave at the miniscule humor behind the action was enough to satisfy him, leaning back in his chair and adjusting to grow more comfortable. “No, but we did discover she was a prostitute.” “She is never grounded, never with just one. Her hands are filthy and the steps she takes are intentional in what she does. That's why he removes her feet and hands, embedding her in cement. Her vocal cords and tongue are to stop her from making any noises, and the skin peeled off her back to make wings is to show how sinful she is. She wasn’t worth twenty dollars much less a nickel with how many diseases I assume she carried.” “Two.” “I stand correct” “This one...I believe this is the turning point here. He’s beginning to go down hill.” “Do explain.”

“Diana Turner, nineteen, Newberry, South Carolina.” “The age is already a indicator.” “How so?” “He wouldn't attack the children who haven't been seen as pure or impure yet unless he had a justification to do such.” Lecter quietly tapped his chin in thought as he looked to the woman. A beacon of ‘go on’ to follow as he keeps a thoughtful look. “Found covered in a sheet as if to hide the body. Roses are in place of the eyes, severed hands of a past victim, five, are sewn to cover the ears and lips have been sewn shut. The head is severed from the body, a necklace of carnations to cover the gap between the body and head. A white dress, far too big for the girl, was placed on the body and her hands hold her own heart which had been removed, sewn to the fingertips and fingernails painted with her own blood, messily. The victim was believed to be a virgin, signs of excessive, water-based lube and condom material left. He was the one to take her virginity and we believe it was before he killed her, possibly while she was bleeding out.” “She must have been a submissive little thing, he felt remorse, or what can be similar to such in this particular psychopaths mind, taking the last thing that kept her innocent.” “Yes, she seduced men and left them in embarrassing situations to be found. She, only discovered by the mother while in questioning, killed her father to protect her when she was younger and, as a result, hated men. The killer found her guilty yet felt as if he had to ' _fix_ ' her after he broker her.”  
“I believe I have a profile for you, agent.” “You do now?” “Yes, I will only tell you if you tell me something about yourself. Where did you grow up?” “Buckhannon, West Virginia.” “Ah, the incest state. No wonder your father loved your mouth of so much.” “The profile?” “He just simply must have loved that togue, imagining just what he must taste like to you. “Doctor Lecter.” “Oh, I bet you wonder if I wish to dev-” “ **Doctor Lecter!** ” The woman snapped once more and the man looked upon her with a narrowing gaze. “The profile, please.” “What profile?” A exhausted groan, and the woman began to gather her things, anger swelling in her being. She could hear him calling out to her, enticing her to come back but half way down is when the yell of her name caused her to freeze, catch a breath and begin backtracking.

“Male. Mid thirties to forties. He’s a loner with a bad history of rejection from women and men alike, raised in a southern baptist setting and still probably living in one. He’s aggressive to most women and irritable to most men. He had a rough upbringing, followed by anti-social behavior. _Daddy must have beat him too_. A single hint I can give as to your killer that will set the ball in motion-” “Yes?” “He lives in the woods. Now go. **Go**!”

Hurried clicking, the woman was off to deliver her report to her superiors before time had grown too late.

* * *

  
“ _// Heat the oven to 350°.//_ ” Skilled fingers flip a switch on the range, setting the oven to on and beginning to press the indicated button to rest on his desired temperature. “ _//On a lightly floured work surface, roll the larger dough rectangle into an 18-by-14-inch rectangle, halve it crosswise and lengthwise to make four 9-by-7-inch rectangles. //_ ” A tune filled the air as the television in the corner of the kitchen, buzzing with interference here and there from the rain falling lightly like footfalls of a mouse across the shingles of a roof. ‘Angels From The Realms of Glory’, the melody flowing quietly from deep within a gravely throat as strong palms press down on the mound of dough, a rolling pin moving over the mound steadily with the aid of a bit of flour, the mixture coming up over the air and shining in the air from the island light downcasting over the linoleum flooring. “ _//Fit the 4 rectangles into the bottom and up the sides of four 5 3⁄4-by-3-inch loaf pans lined with parchment paper. Divide the pork mixture among the pans and press it evenly into the bottoms. Divide the chicken and stuffing mixture eve-//_ ” “ **// WE INTERRUPT YOUR REGULARLY SCHEDULED PROGRAM TO BREAKING NEWS. A DEVELOPMENT ON THE PURITAN CASE HAS BEEN DEVELOPED. WE SWITCH OUR TO OUR NEWS CORRESPONDENCE TEAM TO THE NORFOLK POLICE. //** ” A head was raised in a questioning gaze to the screen, looking upon the scattered picture of the police chief cld in uniform standing before a podium. Clatter of camera clicks and the drowning down clatter of reporters sounded until the tapping of the microphone and the soft transmitting drone of a noise that followed, a cleared throat giving way to the now nude, silent air.

“//I thank you all for staying tuned in with us as we work with other local agencies to track down this Puritan. Today, at 0900 hours, the body of a local named Max Hamilton was discovered at a local motel floating in the pool. This is the eighth murder so far in the Puritan case and we believe will not be the last. As of only two hours ago, one of our agents went out to meet with a professional in regards to profiling this criminal. We would like to provide what information we have to the public as to aid in finding this killer. I will hand this over to junior Agent (First Name) (Last Name)//.”

The man patiently leans against his counter as the familiar beep of the timer sounded, indication of the heat being perfect for optimal cooking.

“//Hello, everyone. Our suspect is male, in his mid thirties to forties. He’s a loner with a bad history of rejection from women and men alike, raised in a southern baptist setting and still probably living in one. His occupation may be a man of god, a revival leader, or someone with a deep sense of religious being. He’s aggressive to most women and irritable to most men, his upbringing being the root of such. He is of fair skin color in the Caucasian range, nearly six foot five or a little bit less. He is a seasoned hunter, probably a man of a very rough style of intercourse. If anyone has any information, please do refer to the number below or visit one of our field offices. The FBI number-//”

A slam of a fist, the throwing of objects. Discovered, he had been discovered. “ **Fuck!** ” More throwing, the contents of pie was slung at a wall, sliding down and meeting the floor in a heap of mush and uncooked raw meat. ‘You, my son, you will make them all see just how worthy you are to be in the prospect of the angels.’

“ **// WE NOW RETURN TO YOUR REGULARLY SCHEDULED PROGRAM. //** ” “ _//Place the pies on a baking sheet and bake until the crusts are golden brown and an instant-read thermometer inserted into the middle of each pie reads 160°, about 1 hour and 15 minutes. Transfer the pies to a rack and unmold. Serve the pies with the chutney at room temperature, or chill for 4 hours and serve cold.//”_

A few choice steps, a deep breath and the man exits the kitchen door. Robes being placed over what the moonlight peaking through the stained glass windows and storm cloud sky reveals to be that of a blood clad shirt, fresh pressed button down in crisp white. Sunday church trousers rest on his legs and leather polish shoes glisten in the light rays peeking in. He raises his hands in the silence, looking out over the crowd of shadows sitting within the crowded stands, a motion for the shadows to seat even with their positions giving away to the seated position. “2 Corinthians 13:11. ‘Finally, brothers and sisters, rejoice! Strive for full restoration, encourage one another, be of one mind, live in peace. And the God of love and peace will be with you’. Learn from this lesson, brothers and sisters. **Rejoice** in the glory of God and his servants, **rejoice** in the purification you all have been shown. **Rejoice** in this holy church _among people of your own creation_! Join hand in hand and give praise for _I am your savior_! _I am your driving force_! I am the one who created you in the light of his holy creator!”

  
The shadows stay among the pews, and the light of a single candle is given when lit by the man who claimed to be the servant of God. The flicker of the flame, the stench of decomposition. The shadows that stayed in fixed positions much like that of statues even as bits of flesh fell and joined a collective pile on the floor. Dressed in Sunday best, the community rested assured their savior was to burn a path with holy fire to lead to a pure world...his holy saviors world. A drop of flesh from a blush painted, maggot filled cheek, the doors slam and the light is rendered useless to those of the dead.

* * *

 

“Name, age, gender.” “Professor Barbara Lopez, forty-five, female.” “How many does this make?” “Nine.”

**“Fuck.”**

 


	2. PINOT NOIR

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A investigator has to deal with a serial killer of the sexual nature and when said investigator must get the aid of a criminal to solve the case, she must avoid unwanted attraction herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to the lovely @Dovahlock221 for your help in the ideas behind this story as well as your support in writing it! <3

**“Fuck.”**

\------------------------------

“Ms. Lopez..Valentina, may I call you such?” “Y-yes.” “Valentina, would you happen to have any idea as to why your mother was out on that trail last night?” Hands placed on a wooden desk, pen and pad resting lightly beneath a leather jacket over a button up shirt that was messily tucked in. Aviators rest beside a growing cold coffee mug and tired eyes look on to those of tear stricken loneliness. A sniffle, a tissue was exchanged and a cough to follow for the croak of ‘thank you’ escaping soft, nude lips. The girl was thirteen, a only child with a dead father and aunt who lived back in Columbia. “She liked to go on runs while the sun was setting, she thought of herself as a photographer on many occasions. I knew...knew something was wrong when she didn’t come home for dinner...She- I’m sorry, I just can’t-” “It’s okay, Valentina, please, take your time. I’m here to listen whenever you’re ready.” “Thank you, Ms. (Last Name).” Tears were blotted away, followed by a sob and the motion restarted again and again until soft hiccups and quiet breaths steadied the younger. “She, um, she never comes home later unless she’s on a date or working late. Something like that, and even then, she would have called to let me know.” A nod followed from the investigator, the scribbling of black ink flowing over a legal notepad as each word was taken down, a series of questions followed the written words and the investigator shifted in her seat, stealing the mug and sliding the aviators aside, sipping gently at the cold liquid. Black with two sugars, her usual. “Now, your mother was a instructor of Theology, am I not mistaken?” “Yeah, worked a lot with the student basis on their...personal studies.” “Did any of her students appear..off to you?” “I don’t know, I rarely stuck around because I didn’t like when a few of her students kept looking at me...Pervertidos, don’t know when to keep it in their pants. I thought people like that were supposed to be solely into the holy word and not what's between some girls legs.” A visible shiver, goosebumps, she looked visibly green and it proved the punctuation behind such gazes. “Tell that to the priest..” A unknown mumble of words startled the girl from her thoughts and the other took realization only a moment later. “What?” “Nothing,” she quickly interjected, “disregard anything I just said. Listen, I’m gonna give you my card and if you have anymore information, please, don’t hesitate to call.” Brown locks against darker skin of such exotic ethnicity to Virginia shake in a nod and the woman rest back against Miggs chair, lighting one of his cigarettes and lightly puffing at the cheap cancer stick.

 

A deep inhale, a light moment to allow eyes to close and the scenes from the night before to remain fresh in her mind. ‘Oh, dear, your feet must be hurting in those second rate, department store shoes’. A sudden opening of eyes, the woman looked around to make sure the man was indeed, not in that room, that he was indeed within his glass box with that sickly interesting expression, that tongue that wagged into every insult. A shake of her head, she was quick to snub out the cancer stick and stand, dusting herself of any ash that had stayed stricken to her clothing and leading heels taking to the carpet of the halls, the god awful 70’s pattern that was in serious need of a update. Those heals, nearly slipping due to the rough fabric and leading to the cubicle the female generally used to process her cases. “// If anyone has any information, please do refer to the number below or visit one of our field offices. //” Her voice, with the headache that was coming on, she could almost mistaken it for a echo within the small area. “Hiya, kitten.” The smack of gum, the pop of a blown bubble. The investigator knew just who it was that leaned over the cubicle wall. “Rosa.” She greeted in turn. The peppy brunette that strolled in each day like it was her lucky day and the night to get laid, gave a lazy smile to the other, a glance to her nails spared. She must have gotten them done recently. “Any updates?” Anyone in a bar would fall for the plump tits and bubble butt the short suit skirt hid horridly, would follow a waggle of her tongue and any motion she made to bring whatever pray she wanted into her bed. “Not yet. All I have is a crying kid with family only in Columbia, a few students staring her down and the fact she didn’t come home on time.” “Well, that’s somethin’, isn’t it?” “Fair point.” The woman leaned back in her poor office chair to look up at the other who rested over the wall a bit more, cleavage showing like two plush cushions peeking from a box that had yet to have been unloaded in a furniture store. Milky white skin, she looked almost dead with such dark locks framing her face like that. “I told Miggs you were done in his office, he was pissy because you stole his cigs.” “I took one, that just means one step away from death for him and three steps closer for me.” “Shoulda took the whiskey, we could of had some fun.” A shake of her head, she smirked a bit to herself at the advances the other was making, only made her appear as a better lay. “I thank you for your advances, dolly, but I think I should be getting back to work.” A pout from red stained lips and the moment passes as if nothing had transpired from their exchange. “Crawford's on line one. He sounded in a pissy mood so I gave him a moment to chill the fuck down. You know how to reach me if you...change your mind.” “I’ll think of you if such a time comes.”

 

A deep breath, another lighting of a cigarette. ‘Okay, maybe I stole two. Federal offense, oh dear!’ The cig hangs loosely from pale lips as the phone was held up and placed between a pressed face and a popped up shoulder. “(Last Name).” “I’ve been waiting.” “Sorry, Crawford, I was with a witness. What do y-” “Lecter is requesting you.”

 

Silence.

 

‘Oh shit.’

 

“May I ask why he’s requesting me personally?” “Said he would only talk to you, said he had something for the newest murder. I guess Chilton told him about it. Or the sick bastard just assumed there would be another one. Either way, he wants you and only you, he has refused to talk to any of our other informants.” “I’ll be there in thirty.”

 

\------------------------------

“So, you mean to tell me you called me down here, over the topic of wine?” “Not just any wine, Ms. (Last Name), Pinot Noir. You see,” the shadow at the back of the cell chided as he quietly flipped a page in the file the woman had provided for him, a lick to his fingers to unstick the pages and a simple glance given to the woman, a smile, maybe even a grin given and the page flipped with a quiet flutter in the confined air. “A Pinot Noir, without a doubt, is one of the most romanticized wines in all of the world and in most kitchens due to its versatility in many courses. It’s a sought after flavor of many enthusiast. As you may or may not know, Ms. (Last name), the grape used for Pinot Noir is one of the hardest to grow, one of the hardest to flavor correctly and get the same flavors as France has been able to do. It’s what you may call, a crowd pleaser.” Another flip of a page within the folder, resting upon the other side of the folder. “See, the key to flavoring a fine, Pinot Noir is to get your grapes nice and ripe, succulent and to perfection, ripe red berries, the oh so sweet black cherries, mushrooms, despite the undesirable sound of such,  and what sommeliers call forest floor, that smell you get from freshly fallen damp leaves. A lovely smell, would you not agree?” The man looked to the other, watched her quiet features as she listened to his spoken words. A clear of his throat and she joined him at his level on the floor, watching as she adjusted in the crinkling leather of a men's jacket. “Daddy give that to you?” “Mother, he gave it to her.” Intrigue yet of the vague nature, the man continues. “Due to the priciness of most of these extravagant wines, and the scarcity of their growth, cheaper versions have been created as to answer to the call for a indescribable Pinot Noir.” A raise of a photo from the file and he held it to the light. ‘Number five, Johnson’. “Grand Cru Red Burgundy from the Côte de Nuits, produced by Aubert de Villaine at Domaine de la Romanée-Conti, your killer, he is very reminiscent of such.” “Elaborate if you will please, Doctor Lecter.” “Your killer is one of those unthinkable ingredients in a wine mixed of such beautiful taste, yet he is a key ingredient to what the flavors are.” “He acts as the bitter to the sweet, the impure acting as a Puritan…” “And, (First Name), he goes along with any meal.” “Meaning his motive is always the same but each victim is different.” “Your latest victim was a cheap Pinot Noir.”

 

The woman brushed back her hair, clearing it from her face and showing off more of her delicate features then she had not quite realized she had been doing. Slim neck, subtle collarbone juncture that looked perfect to take a bite from. The Cannibal stole a silent lick from his lips before meeting the others eyes as she silently processed the information. “She fought back.” “Tell me about the scene, (First Name).” “I assume I can now call you-” “Doctor Lecter.” A pause, then the other shook her head, messy hair swaying as the file was pulled out once more to be reviewed. “Professor Barbara Lopez, forty-five, female. Found in whole, little damage done excluding the manner of removing the organs, eyes and tongue. The body is tied to a tree on a remote hiking trail, knots those of BDSM bondage. Most of the nails have been removed from the womans fingertips but traces of DNA from the killer has been found, that of skin and blood. It is believed the killer tried to hide the evidence of damage done to himself.” “Mr. Pinot Noir is a bad grape who juiced himself a little too much. Do you have a name?” “We’re getting there, forensics can only move so quickly.”

 

“I suppose until then, you are stuck with me in terms of communication.” “Oh?” The woman replied with amusement at the grin that laid lazily on the mans face. “I would say you have the mentality of a crush, of course, if I didn’t know any better.” The woman joked and yet a shine to his eyes was neither confirmation nor denial. Another lick to his lips, a shared glance, the woman adjusted to sit not on the leather coat and look on to the man in a prison jumpsuit. “Do you know anything about psychology, (First Name)?” “Maybe I do, maybe I don’t.” “Have you heard of the case of the Preacher in Italy? The one who could talk to angels?” “I’m not very religious.” “Nor am I, but this may catch your interest no less.” A clear of his throat and a scoot closer to the glass. Those icy, deadly eyes stared on into the others and that grin never left as he watched the way she breathed, the way such a simple set of words could pull her in. He was fascinated, and yet he couldn’t shake that uneasy feeling about their dear little bad Pinot Noir. ‘Theirs?..No, hers.’ “There was a man in Italy, Eptani Ruth, who fancied himself a observer of angels, who believed he was the prophet that could speak to God and speak his unspoken word. He believed he could cure the world. This man was fancied mad by his fellow clergy, for he was the one to see the world in the divine light of the heavens. Followers of the church on each day a sermon was held, began to notice the number of members dwindling and dwindling until there was finally one. A cop. The next sermon that was held, there was rejoice for the church was filled to the brim with the missing. Come to find out, my dear (First Name), the members had been butchered by the man who spoke to God, who spoke to the angels, and there among the cop sat his decomposing church fellows. For Eptani Ruth thought they were impure and ungrateful for Gods love.” “What a wonderful story, Doctor Lecter.” A hint of sarcasm and the man leaned just a bit closer to the woman who looked on with a hum and adjustment of position. “Tell me, Ms. (Last Name), are you good with Anagrams?” A moment of confusion to the sudden question and a raised brow. “I beg y-” She was startled by a yell of her name from down the hall, standing to attention when the bigger, dark skinned man made his rush to the woman at the end of the hall. She knew what the call was about and she made her way half way before the words that echoed off the walls went unnoticed at a instant. “Think of the angels, (Last Name)!”

 

\------------------------------

“Paul Riviera, thirty-seven. Born in Winchester, Virgina with a single father. Died in a car crash, drunk driving.” The forensics man went over the material they found from the DNA gathered from under the victims painted nails. Red, a good color to hide such things from a killer whos trying to hide his sins. “Oh ho ho, check this out.” Miggs handed a photo among the male coworkers in the room, watching as they snickered and gossiped over the image. A snatch with skilled fingers and naked, thin nails trailed over the Polaroid photograph to the topless woman in leather panties and bunny mask, collar in hand with a unknown man attached. The men watched as the woman examined the photo. “Meet Mrs. Riviera.” “That would explain the leather and bondage, it wasn’t just daddy issues, mommy issues too.” “Hot mommy issues mind you.” A collective cloud of laughter emitted in the tight space around the decomposition formerly known as Professor Barbara Lopez and only when a bang sounded in the room did the laughter cease and all eyes landed on the woman's who's fist rested on top of the metal table, chilled, giving a sense of death reaching out and clutching onto what life is left within the room.   


“You men are acting like children attempting to see the centerfold of a playboy magazine while a robbery is in progress in the same fucking gas station you’re in only ten fucking feet away.” “Yesh, babe, calm d-” “Tell me to calm down again, Jimmy, see where my Goddamn boot goes. Now shut your fucking ass and let me talk, capche?” “Y-yeah.”

 

A clear of her throat and she stands straighter, having the full attention of the men surrounding her. “We have a killer in Virginia, he’s killing men and women and right now we have a cold one on this table. His killings are not only in our home state but in neighboring states. All you little shits care about are that fucking picture and where your dicks will go in the next ten minutes when they deflate. Yeah, I’m talkin’ to you, Henry. Put your big boy panties on, stop acting like the only thing that matters in the world is pussy and work with me on trying to catch this mother fucker.” A collective glance transitions among the room as everyone silently listened on to the woman's words. She cleaned up the pictures scattered among the cold pressed table and leading on with a grumble of unknown words beneath her breath.

 

“(Last name), Crawfords on line one.” “Thank you, Rosa.”

\------------------------------

 

“I heard you got a name, now tell me, what is the meaning behind the killings…” A clear of a throat and another drag of a fag taken between chapped lips. The woman allowed her eyes to lull as officers pass by in stampedes from outside districts in attempts to find the man who they called ‘The Puritan’. “He may see the world as pure but the imperfections or the blemishes much like the people he's killing are what brings him great 'pleasure'. He shows them what he sees them doing to themselves and then kills them to cleanse himself. Maybe there's something biblical with him.” “I’m hearing a lot more maybes then guarantees, agent (Last Name). In this profession, we require the known facts from professionals and not what is considered to be speculation. Am I understood?” A moment of pause hangs in the air and the woman frowned, smoke fluttering out from her lungs and dancing around the cubicle. A bit followed a passing officers draft and the man gave a hum as if of ‘I’m waiting’. “Yes sir.” The woman sets the phone aside, taking a sigh into her space and allowing it to flow around the area she rested quietly in. A stumbling of a intern, the woman glanced to the passage way going along to the conference room and taking a single intake before leaving and following. It was a moment of reveal, like Christmas morning.

 

Bodies of varying size crowded in the small area, pressed close to one another much like soda in a case with cans against one another. (First Name) shoved her way past the masses who stood shoulder to shoulder, getting her way to the outskirts and against a wall beside the peppy brunette who lazily chatted with a officer from the Chesapeake district. He was broad shouldered, taller than most of the men in that room yet too skinny to be considered heavy artillery. “Who are we waiting on?” Miggs asked with a cigarette tucked between his thin lips and dull eyes looking on to the younger agent from Bristol. “Officer Cox from Baltimore, Evans from Wolf Trap. Martinez from Richmond and Myers from Norfolk just arrived and Hall from Alexandria is stuck in traffic on his way from Alexandria as a rep for Quantico until Jack Crawford arrives.” Squeaky voice, she was the mouse of her unit, southern drawl enough to make anyone look on with humor despite her mannerisms. She may appear small, but from talk around the room about the five foot two woman, she was feisty. “Ah, agent (Last Name). I hear you’ve been talkin’ with the devil as of late.”

 

The drawl is what threw her off but a single glance back made the woman shake her head and offer a grin in place of the frown she wore into the meeting space. “Roberts. Glad you could make it from Winchester, we need as much insight on this guy as we can get.” “Damn right you do.” The man pats the woman's shoulder, making his way to the podium and standing before the officers that stopped their jabbering and allow their glazies to meet with his gulliver of five o'clock shadow present. “Gentlemen, ladies, we have a killer on our hands and a identified man. Now being a native of Winchester and knowing those woods like the back of my hand, I can tell you that there are few places he could possibly be. A few places we can exclude due to the idea that he indeed is biblical. A guilty man wouldn’t hide in a church.” “Get on with it!” Called Myers from Norfolk, the short and pudgy man looking on with crossed arms and a narrowing gaze. The more attractive frowned and shook his head at the people before him, stealing a sip of water and clearing his throat. “There are plenty of cottages and cabins out there which seem like a much better place to go hiding away.”

 

Something just doesn't seem so simplistic behind that, something that felt off in the entirety of what he was saying. It was easy for a man to hide away but with the description she felt was the reasoning behind the mans killings, it was the only option. A quickened pace leads her to the doorway of the main entrance and a quick movement to her car was evident by her shadows in the setting sun. It would be dark by the time she reached Winchester, Virginia. She was going solo.

 

‘Are you good with anagrams?’

“Anagrams...Eptani Ruth.”

 

One second.

Two.

Three.

 

“Eptani Ruth...The Puritan.”

\------------------------------

 

_“//And I saw a great white throne, and him that sat on it, from whose face the earth and the heaven fled away; and there was found no place for them.//”_

 

Headlights light the gravel road within the backwoods of Winchester, Table Mountain Pine mingled in with Loblolly and Virginia, Honey Locust scarce yet seen with a glimpse of the beautiful leaves spreaded here and there by a shift of air and brushing against the windshield, making the windshield wipers shake gently and brush aside the rain that began to hammer. The truck shifted over rocks and limbs that jutted from the gravel, rocking the materials in the bed of the truck from left and right to the front and back, nearly falling out each time the truck rocked. It drove on even as mud splashed and decorated the undercarriage, coating the large tires and dripping from the worn red paint.

 

_“//And I saw the dead, small and great, stand before God; and the books were opened: and another book was opened, which is the book of life: and the dead were judged out of those things which were written in the books, according to their works.//”_

The truck parked in front of the large building god had forsaken so long ago. A whistle and ‘get’ leaving chapped lips to scare off the local stray from clawing at the large spruce doors that leaned on each other and created a heavy barrier from the clergy within. A slam of a car door, the gathering of materials for what could be seen as renovation for the old, decaying building. He throws the materials down with a huff as if of exhaustion, making his way within the building and greeting those who rested in the pews, feet carrying him up the aisle like any preacher. He could faintly hear the psalm from the interior of the church, the truck left on to keep the man and his faction company.

 

_“//And the sea gave up the dead which were in it; and death and hell delivered up the dead which were in them: and they were judged every man according to their works.//”_

 

The rain soaks his hair down, matting it to his face and over his basic frames, wide around his eyes and collecting the droplets that escaped from the black bits. He hummed as he began his work on covering the windows with boards, lips moving along with the words of the psalm. The windows, cracked and broke, rain spilling in onto the creaky, wooden flooring that has been walked on many years ago. The man could still recall the building of this church back in the thirties, the original pastor a bastard in the eye of the clergy but a mentor and leader to the man who began to nail the boards up over the window, cutting off the lights of the truck and soon having to light a kerosene lamp to keep the room lit enough for work. Another board nailed into place over the second window and soon the only light shed within the church was the lamp that had been moved to the middle of the room. He bumped into one of the faction members, knocking over their small frame and positioning them back into place, sunday hat readjusted and smiling in the presence of those blackened holes where eyeballs had once rested. Brown, Mrs. Berger had brown eyes. “Blessed be, sister.” A kiss to the head and he began his walk about to the truck that sat in front of the church. He throws his tool bag back into the back, dusting his hands off on the cloth he kept in the passenger seat. A moment of pause and he climbed into the warm carriage of the truck, allowing the heat to blow over his chilled hands and warm them up from their previously frozen state. Lanky fingers wrap around a thermos that rested in the cup holder, stealing a sip of scalding coffee, eyes fluttering and accepting the liquid into his being with a hearty greeting.

 

_“//And death and hell were cast into the lake of fire. This is the second death.//”_

 

He was startled by a knock to his window, rolling it down and looking onto the figure that stood before him, drenched down to the bone and shivering. “Can I help you?” He must’ve missed the car that pulled in not too far way, or the woman who approached like a drenched kitten looking on with pleading eyes. “M-My uh..my car broke down about a mile back, and you’re the first place I found that has a person here. D-Do you happen to have a phone I could borrow?” Now, being the good Christian man that he was, the man smiled, opening the passenger door for the other and watching as she climbed into his truck. “I can take you inside once you’ve warmed up. Hard to understand ya’ when you’re stuttering like a child. How long have you been out here, ma’am?” “M-Maybe a half hour or so. I lost the main road in all of this rain.” “It is rather hard to see.” A nod to the man and once the other was warmed up, at least to his liking, he held his coat over her head and lead her into the back way of the deserted church, looking around for the phone that was resting on the wall. Another lamp was lit, and the device was located, held out for the woman to take. Curious eyes look among the dusty area before giving a ‘thank you’ and grasping the device. She dialed the number she desired, humming as she waited. Met by a dial tone, she gave a groan of frustration and attempted once more. Another tone, a curse beneath her breath that didn’t go unnoticed. “Ugh, Miggs won’t pick up.” “Boyfriend I assume?” “Nah, just a friend of mine who lives in the town over...I hate to be rude, but I haven’t caught your name.” A pause, a chuckle and the man offered his hand to the other. “I’m Paul, a pastor at this church.” “Hey, I’m (First Name).” “It’s a pleasure to have you here, (First Name). I was just about to get ready for my sermon, do you care to join us? We’d love to have a addition to our clergy.”

 

“Sure.”

 

“//And whosoever was not found written in the book of life was cast into the lake of fire.//"

 

The woman tried once more when the man left her to get the sermon around, wet hair slid back in favor to keep out of her face. Another set of calls and the man didn’t pick up. The fat fucker wouldn’t even take a second to hear her out anyway, sexist and ignorant. What a wonderful fucking combo. She eased herself back from the landline, listening around and hearing the man finish the psalm that had played on the radio outside in that ghastly red truck she could only imagine as to what he held within it. Her fingers ease for her gun, pulling it from its holster and making slow pace to find the man among the small church. Her steps lightly creak and it arose the man's gaze from the mirror he sat before as he hears the floorboards above creak under her weight. A huff of air in the form of a sigh, the killer in disguise took his near soundless steps up from the cellar below and to the room the woman once stood in, taking note of the phone that rested on the wall. His fingers placed over the receiver, feeling where her breath once fanned and the ultimate stir meeting his lions beneath the robe he wore. His steps follow the noises of creaks, biting on the inside of his cheek as a candlestick was taken from one of the man tables resting against the wall of the short hall. Pure silver, the former pastor wanted a pure church and silver being that of a pure metal was a welcomed metal. The woman eased around a corner, gun raised and pointing to a interior corner. A coat rack, resting up against the wall with many forgotten boxes and artifacts for the church, a look of distaste meeting her features when she took in the smell of the meeting hall where the pews of the church rested packed. She eased her scarf over her nose, trying to hide the all too familiar scent from overpowering her nostrils and making her sicker than before. Her gun raised when one of the shadows that sat in the room toppled over, feet quietly carrying her to them. Her fingers take hold of the kerosene lamp handle, lifting it and looking at the figure that rested on the ground.

 

She lightly turned over the figure with little muscle to them, falling back on her ass at the decaying face of a boy, maybe of the age of ten. A cough, gag, and she relieved her stomach in the corner of the room, gathering in a light pile of acid and her breakfast from before on the water stained floorboards. She psyched herself up, bringing the lamp up with her to view the faces of the fellow clergy. Decay, bone, they varied in times of death and even then, none were too recent. She wiped at her mouth with the back of her hand, jumping back when a brown recluse crawled from one of the the skulls eye sockets, falling down onto the dusty, ripped dress decorating skeletons lap and scurrying away to a web that connected the corpse at her side. She collided with the firm podium of solid spruce and shivered when she felt the coldest of breath against the back of her neck. She turned on her heal, ready to pull the trigger but the impact of the candlestick against her temple was enough to make her fall once more, the stick brought down once, twice, by the fifth leaving a nice line of crimson down the woman's temple and joining with the rain soaked floor, soaking in and mingling with the water that gathered. A huff left the man as he kicked aside her gun, throwing the woman over his shoulder with a string of curses, throwing the object aside and hitting the spider that rested on its web, gathering its body behind the male corpse that laid on the floor. The blood steadily dripped to the floor from her head wound and he threw her within the truck in the passenger side. Zip Ties, he used them to link her wrist together and feet tangled together.

 

“Blessed be, sister.”

 

\------------------------------

Crawford gave a noise of frustration as he reads over a file from his wife's in-home nurse, taking note of her condition in the passing hours and watching as each status become lower and lower, frowning at the status. His wife was dying, and he could feel himself slipping away each day her breathing became labored and more labored. A look crosses his features and he rubbed at them, glasses set aside and taking a deep breath to stabilize himself. Untucked shirt, messy hair, the mixture of this case and the condition of his darling wife was taking its toll on him and he felt himself go further and further down hill.

 

A ring of his phone, he begrudgingly takes hold of the device and holds the phone with curly cord up to his ear. “Crawford.” “Hannibal Lecter escaped from the Baltimore State Hospital, sir.” “What do you mean he escaped, agent!?” “I mean he broke out after killing a couple of guards...and that's not only it, sir.” A huff of air coming in the form of a pissed off laugh and the man shakes his head. “What more can possibly add on to this fucking case?” “Agent (Last Name) went missing after she left to find the Puritan, sir.” “Great, just fucking great. I have a psychopathic cannibal and a missing cop now on my damn hands.” A moment of pause and the man sighed, taking a deep breath. “Fuck. Me. Keep me updated on this, okay?”

 

**“Yes sir.”**


End file.
